Every Second Counts
by ally.enchantress
Summary: The grin on Elliot’s face was unbearable; she wanted to smack him. Especially when he said her nickname in that cautious, nervous way that told her she wasn’t going to like what he had to say." One person can mend SVU's broken heart. FINAL CHAPTER 8/4/09
1. Chapter 1

**Hey people! I'm updating from camp, so this has to be quick. If you want my inspiration, listen to "Stand in the Rain" by Superchick.**

**Disclaimer: Everything SVU is Dick Wolf's. Lyrics are from Superchick. No profit. No sue.**

**Review review review. Love you all!**

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Heavy breathing coming from her mouth would surely give her away, but he terror and adrenaline, adrenaline and terror, that his horrible, mocking voice inspired made slow, steady inhalations impossible. His horrible, mocking voice. It called to her. Called her to him. It was a game of hide-and-seek, and she could never be It. For if she were It, she would lose everything. that horrible, mocking voice. As though her senses were heightened to supernatural level, she knew where he was. He was getting closer. Him and his horrible, mocking voice. his glowing flashlight was skimming over the boxes and other trash, never missing a spot of black. As she watched, it came crashing down on her with the force of a ton of bricks that continued resistance was hopeless. She could not win. Her handler, the one who was supposed to protect her, was not coming. Not coming because she had been stupid enough to leave where she was supposed to be, where she was safe. Not coming because he didn't know where she was. Not coming because she had trusted the horrible, mocking voice that was haunting her in her waking nightmare.

Not coming. He was not coming, and she was alone in her terror. Terror she so rarely experienced. Terror that was unbecoming of someone in her position, in her profession. She'd sworn never to show fear, and yet here she was, absolutely and unconditionally petrified.

It suddenly struck her that she might never see any of them ever again. They were her only friends, and she wouldn't even get to say goodbye. Either she would die down here in this dank basement that reeked of old sweat and angst and tragedy, or she would get lost in the justice system she knew an trusted and never find her way out. She'd never get her job back, and she'd never see them again. Her father. Her senile step-brother. Her big brother who didn't know where she was. Her...she wasn't sure what her twin was to her now. He could have been worst enemy, soulmate, best friend, true love, she wasn't sure. With their volatile relationship, there wasn't time to figure it out. No time to figure out if she hated him. Not time to wonder if she loved him. No time to make things right between them. No time to say she was sorry.

_Give up. You can't win._ The thoughts whirled in her head, eating at her resistance with deadly precision. Maybe she should give up. There was no way she could win. She'd established that already. She'd proven to her jury byond reasonable doubt that she could not fight him. She'd tried. She'd kicked, hit, screamed, punched, and finally she'd run. Only delaying the inevitable.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe he'd beat her so badly beforehand that she would be incapable of feeling. She'd be like a puppet. a shell of what her family knew her to be. When they found her broken, violated body, they wouldn't recognize her because she would be stripped of everything she had. Stripped of her pride. Stripped of her dignity. Stripped of her bravery. Stripped of her bad-ass reputation. Stripped of her rank. Stripped of her job. Stripped of her clothes. Stripped of her fearlessness. Stripped of her compassion. Stripped of her intelligence. Stripped of her love. Everything that made her who she was would be gone, in his possession, gone forever, and they wouldn't recognize her. She wouldn't be herself, she'd be a stuffed doll. They'd pity the body and return to the world of light and ask about her. _Where's Katrina?_ they'd ask. And she would be left below, never identified. Maybe she should give up. If she continued in her futile efforts to hide, he would find her, and it would be all the worse for her. If she admitted defeat now, she could save herself the pain.

Morbid thoughts raced through her head, disgustingly intriguing. She'd never been raped before. What would it be like? Would it hurt? Yes. Would the victim derive the same feelings she would if it were consensual? Probably not. Could she stand to look at herself in the mirror afterwards, knowing what she'd let him to do her? No. Would she be able to hide it from her family? They dealt with this all the time. would her relationship to them give her the cover she needed to avoid detection? Could she stand to live as Kat forever?

Light in her face. Blinding glow in her eyes. Searing pain in her mind. The game was over. She had lost. Now she had to deal with the consequences. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

"Okay," she said softly, brokenly. "Okay. You win." She stood, hands where he could see them. Cold eyes raked her body, and she tried not to shudder.

His horrible, mocking voice echoed in her mind. "Come here," he said. She did.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

His hands were at her waist, and his breathing grew labored. She took a shaky breath.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Rough hands shoved her away from him, a sharp agony on her back told her he'd hit her. From the feel of it, probably his nightstick. She remembered when she was new to the force and still carried one of those things as a street cop. In the beginning, she'd been terrified to use it. Worried that she'd accidentally kill someone with it. She hadn't wanted to kill anyone. Ever. The thought made her sick. And yet she'd still killed two people. taken two lives. Shot them. Watched them bleed. Never apologized, never once considered the possibility of another way out. She remembered how the nightstick had felt in her hand. She remembered beating someone with it once. Her mentor had told her it was necessary. Now, feeling the hard, unforgiving metal against her back, hitting her, striking her bones so as to break them, she wondered if it really had been necessary. Surely there was another option. Surely something else would have caused less pain. She hit the concrete floor, crying out. Instinctively, she scrambled away from the source of the pain, straight for another door.

Maybe it was unlocked.

The handle wouldn't turn. Hope fading, she screamed and yelled, pounding against the door glass. Nobody heard her cries. Nobody came to save her. Not that it would be expected. She always had to save herself, and she couldn't do it this time. Resistance was futile.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Familiar clinks reached her ears. Her head struck the glass and her semiconscious body slid to the cold concrete. When she opened her eyes, he was right in front of her. His waist was at her forehead. She whimpered and tried to back away. The cold metal door pressed against her skin through the orange jumpsuit.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Chilly steel encircled her left wrist, and she heard clicking.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad.

Her arm followed the pull to be connected to the door handle.

No. It would be bad.

"Bite me, you're dead," his voice told her. His horrible, mocking voice.

How stupid. How needless. She didn't have the courage nor the stamina to look him in the eye and spit, much less bite him. There was no way. She whimpered again. Against her will, she felt the first tear trickle down her cheek. Then another. Then another. Before she knew it, she was crying. Not just tearing up, sobbing. Sobbing for her family. Sobbing for herself. Sobbing for her thrice accursed stupidity for trusting his horrible, mocking voice. As the treacherous tears fell and her breathing hitched, she let herself go. She let herself give up.

And then the door burst open. all the way across the basement, the door burst open and he was there. She was saved.

"Get away from her!" Fin bellowed.

Harris turned, his horrible, mocking voice taking on a defensive edge. "She was trying to escape" he said, and Olivia suddenly panicked, thinking Fin would believe him. Her head whirled and thoughts flashed like she'd had too much alcohol.

Fin snorted derisively. "And you had to pull down your pants to stop her." He crossed to Olivia and uncuffed her. Tear-filled, liquid chocolate brown eyes met him, and her breathing began to steady. Adrenaline drained from her muscles a little at a time. She took his hand and stood shakily on her feet.

"Lowell Harris," she said as steadily as possible, "you're under arrest for raping Ashley Tyler."

"And the attempted murder of a police officer," Fin added, barely suppressed fury and indignation and fear reaching Olivia's ears.

Cold eyes met hers and widened in surprise. "You're a cop?" he said disbelievingly.

Olivia heard the undertone that said, _you would have liked it._

_No, _she thought. _I wouldn't have._ She nodded. "Who's the bitch now?" she asked, enjoying the way his cold eyes narrowed. His horrible, mocking voice didn't say anything, but she heard it in her head, over and over and over again. Whispering to her. Crooning. Taunting. Threatening. Yelling. Laughing. She let Fin lead her away, his arm around her waist, protecting her like a brother and supporting her like a cop. Her arm was draped over his shoulders, holding herself up. She didn't trust her legs to support her weight. Glancing over at him, she saw his clenched jaw and tight eyes morph to concern with underlying fear for her when he met her gaze. She looked away in embarrassment and shame colored her cheeks.

Whatever he'd seen, whatever he'd heard, one thing he could never, ever, ever find out was that she'd given up. She'd resigned herself to be raped. She'd accepted that he wasn't coming and she was on her own. She would have let it happen, too, if he hadn't shown up when he did.

"Liv?" he asked cautiously. "Liv? Olivia, are you going to be okay?"

And that was how she knew her secret would stay with her. Fin had absolutely no idea to say to her, he had no idea how to approach this, and so he wouldn't be able to see the turmoil inside her. She managed to bring a smile to her lips. "Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay."

Olivia knew her statement was about as false as she could make it. She also knew that Fin knew she was lying. She also knew she didn't care in the least.

Nobody could ever find out just how close she'd come.

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**Reviews make me happy! Please!**

**God bless!**

~ally


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey people, sorry about the short A/N last time, even though that isn't necessarily what you guys wanted to read. I was at a summer camp at a college, where I took a 3 week course on Animation. It was actually pretty fun, and I met some really nice people who really had a profound effect on my life. One in particular. By the way, if anyone has the chance to read Aimee Bender, she's absolutely an amazing writer of short stories. You have to look deeper for the meanings because the stories themselves are a little crazy, but they're beautiful things. My advice? Read "Fruit and Words" first. It's gorgeous!**

**Anyway, on to the story. This takes place somewhere in season ten. I'm not sure where, because the context clues are all over the place. It was originally going to be mostly post-Trials, but that didn't turn out right. So, just take your pick. The lyrics you see at the beginning of the chapter is something new I'm trying. I think I said before that this story was based off "Stand in the Rain" by Superchick. Well, what I'm going to do is base each chapter off a part of the song. Make sense? Good! Enjoy.**

**Disclaimer: I refuse to write one. Ouch! Ow! Aie! Darnit, Dick Wolf, stop--OWW!!!--hitting me! Oh, fine. Fine! FINE ALREADY!!!!**

**Disclaimer Number Two: SVU is Wolf's. Happy now? Get me ice. No, I'm not getting my own d*** ice! I can't move!**

**You guys had better enjoy this, because I am in PAIN!**

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_"She never slows down  
__She doesn't know why but she knows that when she's all alone, feels like it's all coming down  
__She won't turn around  
__The shadows are long and she fears if she cries that first tear, the tears will not stop raining down."_

_~ "Stand in the Rain" by Superchick_

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Her schedule was precise. To the letter. Well, number, actually. Wake up a five thirty. Run from five forty to six thirty. Shower and dress for work and leave the house by six forty-five. Allow time for traffic. On a good day, she could get there by seven thirty and make a decent pot of coffee. Normally, she got to throw John's toxic waste in a Wal-Mart bag, too. On a bad day she arrived at eight and skipped the coffee. Either way, at eight o'clock she was working. At eight fifteen, when her captain arrived, she would stop her schedule. Elliot was not on her schedule. For one, he never got to work at the same time. He had for a while, when he and Kathy were divorced, but then that ended, and she had no place for him in her to-the-number schedule. For two, he was all over her schedule. He was the blank space in time when she had nothing better to do than stare at him. He was the white paper she wrote the story of her life on.

And then there were days like this one, where her car broke down. She'd boycotted the subway ever since that case her boyfriend at the time decided to act out in her living room, she didn't want to pay a taxi fare on her already limited budget, and there was no way she was calling Elliot for a ride. So, she walked. There were millions of other options, but she decided to walk. So she did.

Five minutes from home, she realized she'd have to run. So she did. She ran all the way to the precinct and actually got there earlier than normal. Go figure. Her schedule was screwed up anyway, and just to make it worse (in a way), Cragen was already in his office, doing what he'd recently taken up doing, which was pore over a certain case file over and over and over. She didn't know what case file it was, because he always hid it when she came in the door. He probably did the same for the others, too. Though he glanced up when she came in, windswept and slightly sweaty from her unorthodox commute, he looked back down at the file almost immediately, face scrunched in a frown she could not interpret.

A shower. She needed a shower. Without a word to her captain, she sprinted for the locker rooms and tuned the water on. As always on the rare occasions she took showers at the precinct, she prayed nobody decided to waltz in while she was in the shower. Especially one of her team. Especially Elliot… Her mind wandered as she stepped into the spray, and she contemplated doing away with her schedule altogether. It wasn't like it was that useful anyway. Her job was too unpredictable to stick to it. Why had she made a schedule to begin with? Most likely because she needed to be doing something at all times. If she let herself stop, even for a moment, she'd never get moving again. She would start thinking about things she didn't want to think about. Things she didn't want to remember. She heard the loud, boisterous voices of people in the bullpen. Her team wasn't there yet. Good.

Cold. She started and jerked out of the water. The water. It had turned from hot to cold in a split second. Just like opinions. Or friendships. Or safety. Or voices. Shivers shook her as she reentered the freezing spray. Toughing it out took all her strength, but she gladly gave it if it meant she could feel clean. Clean was something she hadn't felt in months. She'd taken shower after shower, scrubbing with a wet towel and a whole bar of soap. The wet dowel was in tatters, the bar of soap reduced to bubbles down the drain, and she still hadn't felt clean. So, she had taken another one, two hours later after she'd gone to the store. She'd used a new bar of soap until her normally olive skin was red raw and still felt filthy. No matter what she did, his awful touch lingered on her unclean body.

His awful touch was everywhere now, even places he hadn't ever reached. Her face burned even in the icy liquid, the long-lost oil of his fingers gripping her chin catching fire that the unceasing chill could not extinguish. Her chest was tight, muscles clenched, feeling invisible hands and remembering how far the violation had not gone. She now sensed every pore of her body become hyperaware, every sound and smell and touch.

Touch?

She became aware of cold pressing against her bare back. Concrete? Cold. Firm. Smooth. Smooth? Not concrete. Tile. Ceramic tile like in the prison showers. An earthquake sent tremors through her bones. It had been a bad idea to run to work. Because: running made her sweat, sweating resulted in a shower, showers meant being alone, and being alone for some reason was destructive. Destruction tended to take the form of her sobbing on the bathroom floor, reliving that night until she found the strength to drag herself to the kitchen and drink herself into unconsciousness. Just like her mother. She had become her mother.

Eyes burned and stung, but she swallowed back the tears threatening to brim. She was Olivia Benson. She was strong. She did not cry. She was not a victim. She was not weak.

"Liv?"

Elliot. Shit. How long had she been up here? Hands on the watch said 9:00. She'd been up here for an hour? How did she not notice the time passing? Her body had become completely and eerily attuned to every passing second, so why hadn't she noticed the time? Reeling, she found her voice.

"Elliot! Get out of here. I'll be down in five minutes, I swear!"

Heavy footsteps hesitated, retreated, and she sighed softly. A few years ago, he probably would have risked a beating to burst through the door and make sure she was okay. Nope. But that was her fault. Her fault that their connection was broken, probably beyond repair. Her fault he didn't care enough to check on her anymore. Her own stupid fault that their friendship was falling apart at the seams. Not the thing he blamed her for. The Gitano fiasco was not her fault. She knew that. She had left. She'd abandoned her partner and gone undercover with the FBI, and she'd done it partially to get away from him. In her absence—absenses! She'd gone to Computer Crimes before that. So, in her _absenses_, he'd beaten up one partner, gotten himself suspended, practically fallen into a depression, and then kissed his new partner, a blonde like his wife, full on the lips. Olivia knew all this from many of her sources in the NYPD gossip chain. _"Elliot Stabler of the dynamic duo ruling the 1-6 has gone completely insane without his better half. Is it missing a partner or pining for a lover? Stay tuned when we go behind the scenes into the volatile, confusing, and very suspicious relationship that was Olivia Benson and who has come to be known as the Un-Stabler."_ That was the gossip chain, and it was painful. Of course, she'd seem Elliot's interaction with Dani Beck for herself. She'd mercifully been spared the humiliation of seeing their alleged kiss.

As she dressed, tears stung her eyes again, and she swallowed them back. She knew crying all too well, and she knew that the first tear would precede hundreds of others, and then she'd never be able to stop them. They drew attention to her, and they made Elliot, Fin, Munch, and Cragen feel guilt and pity for her, and those weren't happy feelings, and she cared about them enough that she didn't want them to worry about her. Happiness was a blessing and they shouldn't have to be bothered by her mundane problems. They deserved to be happy so much more than she did.

She was pulling on her boots when Elliot barged back in, that confounded worry in his eyes. "More than five minutes, Liv," he said.

Nine oh five, replied her watch, and twenty-two seconds. That was the Elliot she remembered. Caring about her like he shouldn't. The idiot. "El, I'm fine," she told him. He rolled his eyes, and she laughed.

"Seriously. I'm fine." Standing, she walked with him out to the bullpen.

"Elliot," Cragen called, motioning him into his office. Her partner nodded. Maybe it was Olivia's imagination, but she thought she saw his eyes flick toward her in that uncomfortable way he had. No. It couldn't be. She was the secret keeper in this partnership. Elliot wouldn't keep something from her.

Upon further reflection, however, she realized this was not true. He didn't used to keep secrets from her. Wait, no, he'd always kept secrets. He'd kept his mother from her, made Olivia think she was dead, even though Olivia had confided in him about her mother's rape and subsequent pregnancy, birth, abuse, etcetera. He hadn't told her about Dani Beck, even though she already knew or guessed most of it. Yet she'd kept him informed about her boyfriends, in the early years before Gitano at least. He'd never told her he'd slept with Kathy after their divorce, he'd only told her that Kathy was pregnant with his fifth child. He'd never told her he knew an astronaut. He'd never told her all these stupid, trivial things that she so terribly wanted to know. He'd never said he was a carrot for Halloween one year. He'd never told her he'd broken his arm in his mother's car accident. He'd never told her his mother was bipolar. He'd never told her nothing had changed between him and Kathy, that he was still not calling her, lying to her. Yet, she had no right to hate him for it.

He didn't know about Sealview, where she'd given up completely. Where she'd been about to let Harris rape her when Fin showed up. He didn't know why she couldn't be alone but so desperately wanted to be. He didn't know that she slept on her couch with the infomercials and got about two hours of shut-eye each night, no joke. He didn't know that she ran without him for an hour each morning, then took to the treadmill and punching bag on a slow day at work, then ran for another half hour when she got home. By the time she collapsed onto the couch in the wee hours of the morning and said hello to the Snuggie or ShamWOW! On TV, her entire body was trembling. The only foods she consumed were granola bars and salads. Maybe the occasional bowl of soup and a sandwich. She was losing weight, though it wasn't obvious. Probably because she acted the same. Or maybe it was obvious, and she wasn't the only one who couldn't see it. Either way, nobody had said anything abou it, so she didn't care, and she wouldn't care until somebody mentioned it. They she'd eat until they stopped noticing again. Simple.

She decided to actually get some work done. What file was on her desk? She wasn't sure. She didn't want to look. If she opened her eyes, she'd be able to see her entire world raining down around her, falling at her feet in beautiful shards of broken glass that she wouldn't be able to look away from because they were so hypnotic. And the fragile thread of her sanity couldn't handle that.

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**Okay, so I finally managed to convince DW to get me ice, and he got me three f-ing cubes. So, while being conservative, I shall tell you all something I know you've just been dying to hear!**

**Yes, I am continuing this. I've decided that I have too many open stories right now, so I'm taking a brief hiatus from them. I shall finish this one and then get started on the others. There should be about four chapters in this, and #3 has already been written. I just have to get it typed and reviewed by my master reviewer. You guys had better hope she checks her email soon, because I'm not posting it until I get feedback!**

**I'm sure you've noticed by now that this is not a happy story. Never fear, ally is here! It shall get better, I promise! I don't believe in unhappy endings, just unhappy lives. And maybe, just MAYBE mind you, you can squint and find EO if you roll that way. Only if you squint, though! I'm not that far gone yet! Not in the alcoholic way, BTW. I'm not yet 21.**

**That's it! Reviews make me update faster!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Hey all! Yes, my reviewer came through for you all and sent my Chapter 3. Sorry to keep you waiting; she's been sick. My original thought for this story was to have every chapter relate to a part of the song below, but my pencil didn't like that. So, that's not what you're getting. After this chapter, things are going to defect from THE PLAN. Just thought I'd let you know. I'm not sure if this is on my profile or not, but I'm going to have to change it if it is. As of yesterday (Friday) I am officially not a gymnast anymore. So, if you are religious, pray for me. I'm not sure what my life is anymore. Maybe God can help me find it again. To my reviewers, thank you! I haven't replied personally, but I shall after this one! I promise! Once school starts, I don't know, but for now I shall!**

**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf owns all. Except the song, which belongs to Superchick. Oh, and the words, which belong to me. HA! I own something!**

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_So stand in the rain  
__Stand your ground  
__Stand up when it's all crashing down  
__Stand through the pain  
__You won't drown  
__And one day what's lost can be found  
__You stand in the rain_

~ "Stand in the Rain" Superchick

* * *

They were still in there. Cragen had come out for a brief moment to pull Munch away from his computer and retreated, plus John, to his office with Elliot. Pouring over that file. Every once and a while, they would hold a picture up to the window and glance at it, but she couldn't see what it was. She'd seen what looked like a DD-5 or two, so it must have been an old case. Apparently they didn't notice her staring because Elliot suddenly picked up a picture and shoved it in Munch's face. Munch's back was to the window, and Olivia could see the image perfectly well.

Cold eyes glared at her, making her shiver, reminding her of the horrible, mocking voice that haunted her nightmares. The reason she had turned self-destructive stared at her. The face she saw on the punching bag she hit, behind her when she ran, flashed in her eyes. It was the Tyler case they were reviewing in thee, without her or Fin present. Her case. The case that almost got her raped. They were reading it again. Without her. Without Fin. Once again, she felt her eyes burning. How dare they? Why couldn't they just move on? Fury and indignation coursed through her veins, fueled by Cragen quickly lowering Elliot's arm and glancing anxiously at her. Chest tight, lungs closing, heart aching, Olivia stood up, one sharp movement that shook her desk. She found every note she'd taken or written about her involvement in the Tyler case, everything she'd kept track of in Sealview Correctional Facility, and stormed out of the squad room. Pace quickening immediately to a run and then a sprint, she flew through the precinct, taking stairs three at a time, always expecting to hear thundering footsteps behind her belonging to either Elliot or Harris, until she burst through the Emergency Exit door leading to the roof.

It was raining. Not sprinkling, pouring. Raining buckets, or cats and dogs, or sheets, who cared. The paper she brought was quickly soaking. Without hesitation, she threw them all as high as she could, watching as they fell to the ground in soggy masses. She suddenly became aware that she was drenched. She should probably change clothes. But instead, she walked closer to the railing and sat on the ledge, staring at the cars moving below her. Seriously? They had been going over that same case file this whole time? Her mind reeled with the implications. Had they opened a formal investigation? Were they going over evidence? Conducting interviews? Rereading statements? Obviously hers and Fin's DD-5s were useful somehow. All they had to do was ask themselves how she'd known Ashley Tyler would have seen the mole that convicted Lowell Harris. She'd been so stupid. Melinda had figured it out in seconds!

Wait! If they figured that out, would the whole case come apart?

"_Was there anything about his…penis that was unusual?"_

_Ashley stared at her somberly, haunted. "He has a big mole," she said._

Was that considered leading or helping the witness? Could Harris actually get out of jail because of the statement that put him there? If he did, then the only way to keep him behind bars would be accusing him of the attempted rape and murder of a police officer. Her. She would be the victim. There was no evidence, no statement. Nothing to keep him in jail. Nothing but her testimony to convince a jury of his guilt. If only she'd thought to take pictures of her injuries or something. Then there would at least be physical documentation of her beating. Would they interview Lowell Harris? Shit! What would he say? Surely he wouldn't stick to the story. He'd exaggerate, reminisce, especially if or when he figured out Elliot was her partner.

How could he? How could Elliot betray her like that? She'd trusted him with every secret (up to Sealview) she'd overlooked all the secrets he'd kept from her, and he couldn't just accept that she had the right to keep one lone, solitary secret from him. How dare he?

An all of a sudden, hard as she tried to hold them at bay, every single tear she'd stored in her heart for the past forty years came streaming from her eyes, mizing with the rain to pour down her cheeks in salty trails.

For once, she let them fall. She completely collapsed onto the ledge and sat there, shoulders shaking, heaving sobs. Raindrops drummed against her skull, in time with the gasps, hurting her chest. She sat like that for some period of time. She wasn't sure how long. How could she do this? How could she go on like this? Her squad didn't trust her, Fin treated her like a time bomb, she could barely hold herself together, much less be a competent partner for Elliot.

She scooted closer to the edge, her clothes and hair plastered to her skin. She didn't notice the shivers wracking her body. She didn't notice the fire escape door clanging open, or the burly figure bursting from it, bellowing her name like he was calling for his guardian angel. All she knew was that the old her, the Olivia Benson of ten years ago, was floating in front of her, and Olivia had to get close enough to warn her. Warn her not to provoke Richard White. Warn her to not get too close to Gitano so he couldn't knife her. Warn her not to go undercover at Sealview. Warn her to keep her stupid heart under lock and key so no idiot like Elliot could break it with his words. And the funny thing was even as the Olivia of the present leaned over the ledge to touch the Olivia of the past, she knew her words wouldn't be heeded. That was just the kind of person she was.

She lost her balance. Her arms flailed, bringing her back to reality. The Olivia of the past vanished, only to be replaced by Gitano. _"He's gonna die, she's gonna dies, and it'll all be your fault."_ Then Harris. _"You want to play hide-and-seek? Okay. When I find you, you're it."_ Well, at least if she was dead, he couldn't find her.

Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her backwards, back onto the roof. Twisting in panic, she found herself staring into icy blue eyes. Elliot.

Fiery anger burned through the cold, wet glaze on her face. Elliot was furious, and she always came out with bruises when Elliot was furious. She winced involuntarily in his arms before succumbing to her body and allowing the pain and despair to wash over her in waves, pulling her into blissful oblivion.

She did not feel Elliot pick her up and cradle her body to his stone-hard chest, whispering to her and soothing her. She didn't feel him carry her back inside, down the stairs, and into an old, unused interrogation room that had gone unused for many a year now. She was unaware that, touching her more than he ever had before, her partner and best friend gently bent her knees and leaned her back against his chest and proceeded to stroke her hair, whispering in her ear.

Olivia didn't know any of that. She was lost in her dreams. But they were good dreams because, no matter how they began, she always ended up safe, calm and safe in Elliot's arms.

That was how she woke up five hours later. When she realized she was conscious, she didn't immediately open her eyes. Instead, she took inventory of her body. She hadn't lost anything, as far as she could tell. However, something was moving behind her. Was she lying down? Had she been kidnapped or something? Was she still in the basement with Harris? Oh, God. Squirming didn't help, apparently. The arms around her only tightened. Time to open her eyes. Her eyelids fluttered a little, but she felt more relaxed than she had in days. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Where was she? An interrogation room. She was at the precinct. Then who was holding her? Elliot? Really? Why?

He stirred behind her, meaning that it had been a reflex before, him holding her closer. "Liv?" he whispered in a voice husky with sleep. "You awake?"

"Yeah…" she replied, waiting for him to release her. When he didn't, she shifted, hoping it would clue him in. But no. He was either clueless or didn't want to let her go.

"Good."

He abruptly stiffened, shifted, and flipped her around so that she was again the wall, pinned by his weight. His fierce eyes were hard, devoid of any of the care she'd sensed earlier. Arctic Ocean, not Pacific. "What were you thinking?" Voice flint, he bombarded her with his eyes, his deep, beautiful eyes. She could say no to such eyes. But the accusation. What had she done to warrant that? Her memory chose then to hit her with a ton of bricks. She'd been trying to warn her old self, in a dreamlike haze, and she'd lost her balance. She would have fallen off the ledge to her death if Elliot hadn't caught her. Why was no one available when she needed saving but always there after she'd given up? Ah, the story of her life.

So why was Elliot so mad? Surely he'd seen her noble intentions in keeping her past from being repeated. No, she realized, he hadn't. He hadn't seen the ghostly form of her thirty-year-old self because that had been a delusion. He'd thought she'd been leaning over the ledge for another reason. Oh, God. He thought she'd been trying to kill herself! Well, crap! How was she supposed to explain that to him?

"Elliot, it's not—"

And he was shouting, face inches from hers. "Don't tell me it's not what it looks like, Olivia! You were falling off the precinct roof! I think that's pretty self-explanatory!"

She struggled for words, but he didn't let her think.

"Do you have any idea what you were doing?" he demanded. "Do you have any idea what that would have meant? What about Cragen? John? Fin? Casey? What about the job? What about all the future victims who will need you? What about your life? What about…" he stopped, looking at her with pure anguish in his beautiful blue eyes. "What about me?"

And as she heard her words of so long ago come out of his mouth in circumstances both so different and so alike, she realized that there was only one thing she could say to that. It was something she'd never even considered before. Something she'd never thought herself worthy of saying. Still, she said it now.

"What about me?" she asked right back.

Elliot blinked. He had absolutely nothing to say in response to that. She'd made her point. So he pulled her to his chest and sank against the wall. Olivia felt it through her clothes. Cold. Hard. Rough. It wasn't tile this time, it was concrete, and she had somebody with her, however angry he might be.

She'd explain it later, even if he didn't believe a word of it.

Then she remembered why she'd gone up to the roof in the first place, and her previous feelings of content came crashing down around her. Like the angels in heaven playing baseball were intent upon shattering the fragile glass above her.

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**What did you think? I think Elliot's in a lottalotta trouble. But that's just my thoughts. Once again, I have sent chapter 4 off to be reviewed. If I don't get it back within the span of two weeks, I shall take pity on my reviewers and update. But, unless there's some major reviewing going on, it won't be any earlier. So, if you know my reviewer, tell her to hurry up and read it so I can feed your anxious minds with my words! HEEHEEHEE!!!!**

**Seriously though. Review. It would make me so happy! More to come! I promise!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Hey everyone! I was updating old stories, so I thought I might as well post chapter four. It's not a big moment chapter, not monumental, not a big fight scene, it's just Olivia's natural reaction to a difficult situation and Elliot's response. If you were looking for Olivia to beat Elliot up, there's no way you're reading the right story. This is not a story in which those two will engage in physical combat, even though we all know Liv would kick his butt into September 23. This is a filler chapter, and so is the next one, I think. So, with that in mind, please enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf didn't want the donut I offered him in trade for SVU, so I'll come up with something else. Until then, SVU is his. :(**

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_"One should rather die than be betrayed. There is no deceit in death. It delivers precisely what it has promised. Betrayal though... Betrayal is the willful slaughter of hope."_

_~Steven Deitz_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Elliot?"

"Yes?"

"How could you?"

"What?"

"You heard me."

He moved around her so he could meet her accusatory glare. "How could I what, Liv?"

She just continued to glare at him. Did he honestly think he'd done nothing to warrant her anger? How stupid could he be?

"Liv, if you're not going to tell me what I did wrong, I can't apologize."

Was she looking for an apology? She wasn't sure. She was looking for something to tell her that Elliot still cared, and, if that came in the form of an apology, she couldn't have cared less. "You know what you did wrong," she said. "Think about it. It is not that hard." Her chocolate eyes bore into his, carrying the weight of the world and then some, silently begging him to share the load while simultaneously refusing to allow it.

With all the heart-stopping, mind-bending activities that had made up his morning, whatever she was mad about must have completely slipped through the gaps. Surely she understood that he wasn't thinking as clearly as he could have been if he had not just witnessed her trying to commit suicide. Were they that out of sync that she had absolutely no idea how terrifying that had been for him? To lose his partner, his best friend, the person who kept him sane, that way was something Elliot couldn't have even imagined before today. He was still trying to figure out what this unnamed emotion he always felt looking at her was. To lose her before he could figure out what he felt when he looked at her sounded excruciating to even hear about, much less experience. Still, she wanted him to try, so he would try if it took the last breath in his body. He thought, and it came to him in a blast of cold water.

She'd seen the picture of Harris. She'd realized they were investigating her case. Damn it! Was that why she'd tried to commit suicide? Because she'd found out they were going behind her back to discover what happened to her? Because she didn't know how open this investigation still was? Because she'd been betrayed? That was what it was, Elliot knew. Betrayal in the sickest way possible. Betrayal by her best friends, the people she considered her family. The people to whom she told everything. Everything except what had happened in the basement. But she was allowed to keep secrets, wasn't she? The Lord knew Elliot had certainly kept his fair share of secrets from her, was still keeping his fair share of secrets from her. Words battled their way to his mouth and clogged up his throat. He had to tell Olivia why, had to explain himself, but the blockage near his Adam's Apple just got bigger.

Waiting for his answer was agonizing in and of itself, but waiting for him to figure out what he was answering for in the first place was a million times worse. How could he be such an idiot? He couldn't actually think there was no betrayal involved in what he had done, no reason for her to be hurt. Could he? He wasn't that blind. Was he? She didn't know anymore, and she feared that knowing would be her ultimate last straw, her downfall. If she ever really found out just how little he cared for her, she'd have no reason to cling to her fantasies, and her reason for living would be dust on the goodbye letter he wouldn't care enough to read. Unable to take his traitorous silence any longer, she stood and stormed out of the room, leaving three words with him. He wouldn't find her. She didn't even know herself where she was going. She only knew her destination was far, far away from here.

He sat there during her departure, stunned. Three words, the words she'd left him, ran laps around his head.

"_I wasn't raped."_

Finally, he managed to move enough to stand and follow her out the door. She must have been long gone by now, but he could still smell faint traces of her perfume in the air, could still feel her head against his chest. As he walked into the bullpen, he noticed something. It was quiet. It was too quiet. There was no sound except for the roaring silence that bombarded his ears and threatened deafness. Every head swiveled to look at him, but he focused only on two of them. The third, the one he needed to see more than any other, was nowhere in sight. Fin and Munch bore matching expressions that blended accusation and sympathy.

"Cap'n wants to see you."

Elliot made his way over to Cragen, who was eyeing him with a mixture of caution, sadness, and anger. Small difference from Munch and Fin's, but Elliot noticed because his captain's stare was more complex than theirs. He wasn't sure what else the man was feeling behind what he could see.

"What did you do, Stabler?" He was monotone, which disturbed Elliot more than a yell.

At the question on his detective's face, Cragen slammed a fist down on his desk, knocking over a pencil case and causing Elliot to jump. "You don't know what I mean? Well, let me clear it up for you, detective." He began pacing, stopping every so often to glare at Elliot. "Your partner came in here about five minutes ago after being MIA for an hour, looking like she'd been standing in the rain. She was crying." He paused for a moment to let Elliot absorb the magnitude of that statement. Olivia never cried. That simple statement put into words more than Elliot ever could have in an hour-long speech. _She was crying._ Cragen continued, "She says she wants some time off. I asked how much, and she told me she did not know." His resemblance to a bull in an arena would have been laughable under better circumstances. Here it just told Elliot how close he was to being skewered with a white-hot poker. "Does that sound like her? What did you do!?"

Words made no sense. They'd ceased to exist. All that was left was him and Olivia, who was drawing farther and farther away from him. He felt her tugging on their bond, stretching it, tearing it, doing everything she could to make it let her pull away from him. How far would she go? When she couldn't travel any farther with their bond, an invisible pinhead in diameter, still intact, would she break it? Would she sever all ties with him because of his stupidity? His eyes flickered to the Tyler case, lying open on his captain's desk. Lowell Harris's ugly mug stared mockingly out at him. Memories pushed for acknowledgement, showing him holding that picture out, shoving it in John's face. Funny, now his fingers didn't think themselves existent, much less able to hold a photograph. She'd been trying to tell him something in that interrogation room, that _I wasn't raped_ had a world of meanings behind it. But he hadn't listened. He never listened. And now she was gone.

* * *

Salty air had always smelled good to her. So sharp, so refreshing. She was somewhere Elliot would never think to look. Her host was someone Elliot would never think of as her saving grace. After all, she'd only just discovered her existence because Elliot had never bothered to share. So, because her partner seemed to be all over keeping secrets from her, she thought the perfect stab in the back would be hiding from him – taking a brief hiatus – with one of his secrets. Plus, she got the bonus of that adorable photo album.

She'd been a little nervous at first, knocking on this woman's door after an hour of driving and crying, but that door had been flung open and surprisingly strong, slender arms had pulled her into a hug. Olivia had apologized from showing up on such short notice, explained a little bit of her situation, and ended by saying uncomfortably that she needed a place to stay and would it be possible… She had not been allowed to finish that sentence because she had been accepted with enthusiasm. When asked where her bags were, Olivia replied that she had not wanted to impose and had not had time to go home anyway.

In truth, Olivia found comfort in staying with Bernadette Stabler. It was like she'd discovered a replacement for her mother in his, and it made her feel better. Like she was still with Elliot, in a way. Like she hadn't actually left him. The guilt weighing on her shoulders was eased slightly.

"Olivia?"

She turned, hearing just a bit of Elliot in Bernie's voice. "Yes?"

Bernie ran up to her, acting more like a child than a grandmother of five and the mother of her partner. "Do you want to build a sand castle?"

That face. How could she disappoint such a face? "Sure. Where?"

That face lit up with all the excitement of a child at Christmas. "How about here?" She led Olivia over to where sand was piling up against a concrete wall, about waist high. Normally, Elliot's influence would have kicked in, and she would have politely turned down the offer of frivolity, but she wanted nothing to do with him right now. She was also very much enjoying stabbing him in the back. So she sat down across from the woman and helped to pile cream-colored sand grains in what soon became more of a mountain than a castle.

As she worked, it changed to play. The construction became having fun, and she wondered how Elliot could have hated having such a woman for a mother. How could he have not wanted to do this every day? How could he not love the carefree, peaceful atmosphere Bernie carried with her like a garment? What did he have against this happiness, this blissful oblivion? Didn't he realize how lucky he was?

Cool water hit her in the face. Coughing, she blinked her eyes open and found Bernie laughing, her hands dripping. And Olivia saw Elliot. His face, his personality appeared in his mother. Olivia reacted instinctively, grabbing a handful of sand and throwing it teasingly at Bernie's midsection. Because she was the better half of Elliot's chromosomes, she couldn't take that lying down and a sand fight ensued. Olivia couldn't remember the last time she'd had so much fun. The last time she'd been allowed to be a kid. When she'd backed up far enough, her feet hit the water, and she jumped back in surprise. The water was actually cool. Pleasantly cool. She was just contemplating walking ankle-deep in the ocean when two hands shoved her just hard enough to send her toppling, fully dressed, into the brisk Atlantic. An involuntary yelp escaped her lips and she shot to her feet like the bullet that brought down Gitano. Bernadette was smiling wide enough to brighten up a night in Oregon, and Olivia was soaked through.

"Now," Bernie smirked, "you absolutely _have_ to go home and get clothes, and that means you have to decide how long you think it'll take to face my son again."

Olivia froze, her mind trying to catch up with her host's unexpected intuitiveness. Had she really been tricked by an eighty-year-old mother? Well, upon further reflection Olivia decided it wasn't that surprising. Bernie was, after all, _Elliot's_ eighty-year-old mother. He had to get his blasted cleverness from somewhere. Speaking of which, how had Bernie known Olivia was trying to avoid Elliot? When she posed the question, the older woman laughed.

"Why else would you have come to me?" she asked, using Olivia's choice method of answering a question with a question. "You want to hurt him like he hurt you."

Olivia had the distinct impression that she was in the presence of a retired shrink. However, she was surprised to find that she didn't mind. In fact, she rather enjoyed it. It seemed like something a mother would do. The whole scenario fit so perfectly into the fantasy sanctuary she'd conjured up here. She felt like she was a child again, and she was pretending Bernie was her mother-figure. She could live with that.

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**So there's your non-dramatic chapter. Keep up with the story, because there's more to follow. I promise you: Elliot and Olivia will return to each other! It might even be EO! I swear I'm not sure yet. I'm still uncomfortable with that whole "end in a kiss" thing in my writing. Well, we shall see.**

**Hey, maybe if you send me a donut (review) DW will be more inclined to sign over the rights to somebody! Just a thought.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Alright, quicky chapter update before I take a brief hiatus. I'm going to Colorado!!! Very excited!!! Just to let you all know, I have finished typing this whole thing up. However, I am not going to post everything all at once. I don't know when my next chapter is going up, so be satisfied with this. To all of you who have reviewed, I love you! Stick with me through all this. Hopefully you like the outcome!**

**Disclaimer: I haven't found Dick Wolf on Twitter, and the restraining order I have yet to burn is hot glued to my forehead. So, until I can pluck up the courage to burn it off me, SVU is DW's. That doesn't mean I have to like it.**

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_A happy heart makes the face cheerful, but heartache crushes the spirit._

_~Proverbs 15:13_

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That evening, Bernie cooked dinner. When she'd asked Olivia what she wanted to eat, Olivia had been stupefied. How long had it been since she'd had anything but takeout? She'd stammered and stumbled, trying to explain to her host how she couldn't cook and didn't have any idea what meals were beyond the white Chinese food cartons in her fridge, and Bernie had understood. "Come here, Olivia," she said. "I'll show you how to make spaghetti."

And, true to her word, she showed Olivia how to tell when the water was boiling, explained why it was better to break the noodles in half before putting them in the pot so that half wouldn't be sticking out of the water, told how long to boil them and how to tell when they were done, and explained her reasoning behind choosing Prego over Ragu. Olivia was skeptical at first. After all, nothing she'd experienced hinted that she'd been given the cooking genes from her parents. Something about a rapist and an alcoholic did not scream 'chef' to her. However, Bernie must have been a miracle worker because Olivia actually managed to keep the pasta from congealing at the bottom of the pot, not burn the sauce, and eat what she'd created without regurgitating it.

"That was delicious," Bernie complimented, taking her plate to the sink. "Congratulations. I'll wash up." Cool water poured from the fountain onto the ceramics that Olivia felt she should be cleaning. Bernie, however, wouldn't hear of it.

"You cooked, I clean. That's how the world works around here," she said. "Besides, I'm not done teaching you how to cook Italian food."

Olivia gave, sitting and waiting to receive her instruction. Sure fingers wrapped around a sponge and scrubbed as Bernie told Olivia how there tended to be cook times for pasta on the boxes and that the pasta sauce was usually the only thing that changed. She explained how to select the correct vegetables to go with a certain pasta sauce, and she spent a very long time on the importance of choosing the right meats depending on the heaviness of the sauce.

Olivia listened closely to everything her host said, mostly because it was soothing. It felt like she was learning the tools of the trade by her mother. It felt like she was sitting in her mother's kitchen, a wide-eyed teenager, listening as her mom taught her how to prepare for taking care of a family. It felt like she was a normal child with a normal mother, having a normal chat about taking care of herself when she moved out. It felt natural, and it felt peaceful, which was exactly why she'd come here in the first place. Peace.

"… So test out the flavors before you put them together," Bernie finished, "and you should be fine." She smiled vacantly at Olivia.

The detective felt her sadness and anger drain out of her as the peaceful aura Bernie exuded washed over her, and she was overwhelmed with gratitude. Something told her the woman knew this façade of normalcy was exactly what Olivia needed, and she wasn't sure exactly how to thank her for that. Thank her for knowing how to make her feel better. How to be her mother.

The two women stayed up talking for hours. Olivia explained one of their most recent cases, and Bernie broke out her photo album. Hours were spent flipping through the Stabler family history. Bernie seemed to realize that Olivia was more interested in Elliot's youth than his siblings' and pointed out some of her favorite pictures, including every single one from Halloween. Olivia watched in awe as her partner grew up before her eyes. As a baby, he had been Snoopy. As a toddler he was Tigger, a pumpkin, and a carrot; reinforcing her belief that he really loved his vegetables. As the Elliot of the photographs grew older, his costume choices became more mature. He went from Superman to a Yankee to a street cop in his father's blues, and his face began changing. The childlike innocence and laughter was replaced by a stern, no-laughing-matter demeanor that Olivia could only assume came from his father.

She also saw his school pictures, kindergarten through senior year, and she asked Bernie to flip through them over and over again so Olivia could watch the baby fat disappear, the hair change, the eyes mature, the mouth curve downward, the posture straighten, until the high school graduate she saw last was the man she knew to be Elliot Stabler, albeit much younger. Bernadette was patient throughout her guest's exploration into her best friend's life, understanding the deprivation that Olivia had never realized existed until just recently, the need to know more. She'd gone from thinking she knew her partner to recognizing that she never had all in the course of a few hours.

Finally the unending pages opened to the back cover, and the women acknowledged the need for sleep. Olivia was offered, and accepted, residence in the room Bernie had filled with Elliot's things. She'd taken his possessions from his childhood room and set them up in this one. Internal debate had been quick; as much as she hated him right now, Olivia felt safe with him. At home hear him.

She looked around curiously, finding a few little trinkets, old schoolbooks, a bobblehead football trophy from high school, and her fingers brushed lastly against a small wooden box. On it, her partner had apparently inscribed with a pocket knife, "My Treasure Box." It was an old box, and Olivia feared she would break it as she lifted it onto the navy blue bedspread that blared the NYPD insignia. An old, rusty padlock held the lid to the body. Perhaps the polite thing to do would have been to accept defeat, but she was an SVU detective drawn by curiosity, a force she could not reckon with. A few strong tugs on the lower part of the lock told her it wasn't preset. But Elliot was smart. He must have hidden the combination somewhere just in case he forgot it. So where would he have put it? Under the bed was too obvious, but writing it on the bottom of the mattress wasn't. Cautiously, she checked her spot and grinned. There it was.

She twisted in the number sequence, switching the first and last numbers around. It clicked, and Olivia beheld the wonders before her. Pictures from birthday parties changed to sleepovers and movies and dinners. She saw Elliot, she saw his friends, she saw a teenage Kathy, she saw baby Maureen. She was in awe. All this history, all these memories that weren't his mother's but his. Very tenderly, almost lovingly, she made to close the box, when something banged against the side. Her fingers closed around the object and pulled it out, a small golden locket. Why in the world would Elliot have a locket? Wasn't that more of a feminine trinket? Maybe he'd gotten it for his birthday one year by a loving yet misguided grandmother, or as a joke from a friend. Wait…she held it up to her eyes, so close she could see the minute scratches on the outside. She'd given him this locket. For his birthday, anonymously, so that they could all make fun of him for it. She didn't know he'd kept it. Did he know it was from her? Drawn, she slid a nail over the clasp and opened the little heart.

Her breath caught, and she felt her eyes burn with tears. In the locket, there was one picture, one small picture of her and Elliot at the squad's Christmas party that same year. Very gently, she let the locket click shut. She worked the clasp open and hung the gift around her neck, slipping it underneath her shirt.

Pulling back the covers, she lay down and went to sleep, the golden locket pressing against her heart.

* * *

Bernie woke to frightened cries from the next room. It had been a long time since she'd had company, but she remembered Olivia. Elliot's partner. She stood and padded across the hall, recognizing a nightmare when she heard one.

The cries turned to screams, punctured by terrified sobs and coughing as Olivia choked for breath. There was no one in the bed. Olivia was instead huddled on the carpeted floor, wrapped like a cocoon in Elliot's quilt, tossing and turning and crying out in fear. Bernie crept closer, gently touching Olivia's shoulder to wake her.

"Elliot!" she creamed, eyes flying open and darting around in terror. Where was she? What had happened? Frantic eyes fastened on Bernie, a familiar face to tear her from her nightmare.

"Shh. Shh." Bernie wrapped her arms around Olivia, feeling how she trembled at the contact. "It was just a dream, sweetheart," she whispered. "Just a dream." As she felt the detective relax in the motherly embrace, she dared to ask, "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Did she? Olivia wasn't sure who she wanted to tell, if anyone at all. She wasn't sure of much anymore. She just wanted to sleep. She wanted to sleep and sleep and sleep and never wake up. She never wanted to deal with Sealview or anything ever again. But Bernie wasn't giving up. "Olivia? Sweetheart, what do you need right now? What do you need?"

There was only one thing Olivia could think of that she wanted, but it came at a heavy price. Her secrets would be gone. Laid bare for everyone to see. Still, as sobs shook her body and refused to leave, she wondered if it was worth it.

She couldn't say it. She just couldn't. But Bernie knew. From the moment she'd heart Olivia scream for him when she woke from her nightmare she'd known. She found Olivia's cell phone in her bag and opened it. As expected, it was the first number on her speed dial and the last number called.

"_Liv?"_ The voice on the phone rocked memories in Bernie's mind. He sounded numb, like he'd run out of tears to cry.

"Elliot?"

"_Mom?"_

"Yes, Elliot, Olivia's with me. I think she needs you."

The line clicked.

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**Have fun on while I bust my butt in Colorado!**

**A review would brighten my return!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi everybody! Sorry for the delay, I've just been so busy. Short AN because I'm going to bed once I'm done. My Twitter status: must post chapter...must post chapter...must post chapter...must post...*snores***

**Disclaimer: I'm too tired to protest SVU being DW's. Goodnight.**

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Elliot was in the car as soon as he heard his mother's voice. Especially from Olivia's cell phone. Everything clicked into place, and he had to admit she was smart. He'd hurt her, so she was going to hurt him, and she'd done it in the only way she knew short of fists and words. Secrets. Just as he'd hurt her by way of her secret, so she was going to hurt him with his. She must have gone to his mother, knowing that he would never think to check there and that it would be a stab in the back to him.

Well, it had worked. Elliot was battling two very primal emotions: anger and happiness. Happiness at Olivia's removal from the MIA list. Anger at her being put there in the first place. That was what he was doing when he pulled into his mother's driveway, feeling another bubble of nausea roll in his stomach as he saw Olivia's car for the first time in what seemed like years.

Inside the house, Olivia had stopped crying. She was huddled in the corner of Elliot's room farthest from the door. She'd made his bed to look like it had never been slept in, and she'd changed out of her pajama shorts into jeans and a tank. Once Bernie had called Elliot, Olivia had suddenly started to feel very guilty about running. That was all she'd ever done, apparently all she was capable of doing. Why couldn't she have just stepped up and told Elliot why she was mad at him, what he should be sorry for? Because she was a coward, and because she'd wanted to put him through her pain. She'd wanted to hurt him. But Elliot didn't deserve to be hurt. He didn't deserve to be put through her pain. So what would he say when he saw her? What would he do?

He'd probably yell at her. Yell and yell and yell until he went hoarse, and then he'd yell some more.

Her muscles tensed to bolt, but then she heard his car pull into the driveway and didn't even stop to wonder how she knew it was his. She just knew. Just like she knew which set of footsteps were his in a crowded subway, just like she knew his breathing pattern, the emotion he felt by the color of his eyes, just like she could read his timing by the varying degrees of tensity in his muscles, she knew the tread of his car. He was here.

She felt the adrenaline pumping through her veins giving strength to her legs so she could run again. She wanted to run and run and never stop until she dropped head from pure exhaustion somewhere in, say, Illinois. Then she heard his voice, his beautiful, familiar voice, and time seemed to stand still.

Some people say that eyes tell the most about a person, and that was probably true. However, Olivia already knew all there was to know from Elliot's eyes. His voice, his deep, soothing voice, was an everlasting enigma. So many emotions blended together him his voice, and Olivia had learned to recognize them, even the ones she disliked hearing. When they blended, she could recognize certain combinations as well, but the one she heard now was nothing she'd ever heard before. It was a clearly primal tone handed down from when humans followed only instincts, but she could sense something deeper, something much more complex and confusing, something she wasn't sure he in his primitive mindset could recognize, much less understand.

She could hear anger and happiness, the dominant clashing emotions. Then there was hurt, betrayal, and confusion, the three things she'd wanted to cause and now felt sick hearing. She sensed relief, which only served to make her feel worse, and one final thing she could not identify. She didn't know what it was, didn't understand it, and something kept her from prying further. Something told her she didn't want to know, didn't want to understand.

And then she was in his arms, whether she wanted to be or not. It was not much like that day in the hospital. That had been a "Thank You" hug morphing into him holding her, telling her he was glad she was alive. This one was rougher, more urgent. It was an expression of that unidentifiable thing Olivia had heard in his voice, and it was an apology in its purest form. Because she was too much of a coward to say it, she returned the apology with a hug. She sighed contentedly as she felt Elliot's forgiveness in her heart, and she felt his golden locket transferring his heartbeat to hers, throbbing warmly between them.

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**A review would wake me up! You await the next chapter with anticipation, I hope! It's written and shall be posted the next time I'm on the Internet, I swear! Unless I forget...**

**PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE REVIEW!!!**

**goodnight.**


	7. Chapter 7

**OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Monumental moment! The final chapter to the first multichaptered story that I have actually completed!!!!!!!!!!!!! I promised a quick update and you got a quick update! I can only hope I get millions of people liking this ending. This is the end! The finale! Zilch, zip, zero more chapters!!!! *does a celebration dance* YAY!!!**

**Okay, anyway, thank you to all my beautiful readers who have stuck with me through this, especially to ShaNini86 for her long and multilayered reviews with much appreciated analytical words of disection. Basically: her insight. Thanks for making me go, "Oh, my freaking gosh!" when I open my review alert email!**

**With this story over and done with, I can now return to Supremacy, Dancing Queen, and maybe a little more Watching Her. Oh, goodness! I must get writing! No rest for the restless!**

**Disclaimer: This is my first completed story and, therefore, I would love to boost my pride by saying my petition worked and I now have control over the SVU characters. However, nobody would be happy if Dick Wolf got me in legal trouble, because Casey and Alex would steamroll me. So, they're still yours, Dick Wolf, my friend. Until next time!**

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They were in the same park in which they'd lost Merritt Rook. Their backs were against that same curious sculpture, and they were enjoying being back in sync by hanging out together for the rest of the weekend. Besides that hug at his mother's, neither had apologized or even mentioned the incident. Neither really felt the need to. By unspoken consent, Cragen, Munch, and Elliot had filed the Tyler case away and sworn never to look at it again. They didn't think Olivia knew, but she'd watched from behind the doorframe until she heard the lock click. In truth, everyone was happier that way.

The only thing interrupting the peaceful atmosphere was an occasional crunch as Olivia ate the carrot sticks and cherry tomatoes in Elliot's dinner of mile-long hot dog and assorted vegetables. Apparently he'd grown out of his liking for vegetables. Funnily enough, he'd had no trouble polishing off the cookie dough ice cream he'd bought for dessert and then starting on Olivia's butter pecan. Then, of course, there were voices. Elliot and Olivia were playing Twenty Questions with each other.

"What's your least favorite movie?" she asked.

He thought for a minute before answering, "_Titanic."_

For that, he received a punch in his shoulder. "What!?" she cried, outraged. "How could you not like _Titanic?"_

"Easily. It was too sad. Aren't movies supposed to have happy endings?"

She scoffed. "That was part of the beauty. Life doesn't have happy endings for everyone, so why should movies?"

"So that the viewer can leave the theater happy, hopeful, and positive, instead of depressed," Elliot frowned, biting into her hot dog, butter pecan ice cream still in hand. She smacked him.

"That makes the characters more relatable and honorable," she informed him, stealing her ice cream back and eating the last bite. "How many times have you had to give up something you really wanted for someone else's happiness?" Silence fell between then, natural and comfortable but heavy with wistfulness. Olivia finally broke it, adding, "And another thing: it invokes sympathy for the characters. It plays on the human instincts, makes them want to take away the pain. Don't tell me you've never met someone you wanted to do that for; you work in Special Victims."

Elliot nodded into her brown eyes, thinking that he was staring at the perfect description of a person in too much pain. "Okay, whatever," he said dismissively, waving it away. "Your turn. What's the most embarrassing thing you've ever done?"

"Ever or as a child?" she queried, snagging a piece of lettuce and nibbling on it like a rabbit.

"As a child."

"Well," she began, wracking her memory until she blushed scarlet. "I was absolutely in love with this guy in first grade, and I practically worshipped the ground he walked on up until tenth grade. He either never noticed or didn't, you know, reciprocate. But anyway, one day I decided to tell him. So I was sitting in a tree that blocked the path he always took with his friends, and I was going to dare him to climb up to where I was so I could tell him in private."

"Let me guess," Elliot interrupted. "He was gay."

"No," she replied coolly. "Don't interrupt; it's rude." Waiting until he mimed locking his lips to continue, Olivia finished, "He was right under me when a bird attacked my face, and I fell out of the tree, right on top of him."

Elliot burst out laughing, choking on his mouthful of hot dog until Olivia ungraciously thumped him on the back. Between gasps of air, he managed to ask, "So did the story go all around the school?"

She frowned. "Not exactly. See, when he was walking away, he somehow managed to twist his ankle on the tree roots. To spare everyone else the long story, we agreed not to tell."

"So I guess you didn't go out with him?"

"I did actually," she corrected. "All through senior year. The same year I was homecoming queen."

Elliot grinned. "Was he king?"

She shook her head. "Matt Bly got it that year. He was captain of the football team, quarterback, and we hated each other's guts. We didn't dance for that traditional thing they have, mostly because I faked sick."

The grin on Elliot's face was unbearable; she wanted to smack him. Especially when he said her nickname in that cautious, nervous way that told her she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"Liv…"

Not going to like it. Not going to like it. Not going to like it. Not going to…

"When you left…"

Not going to like. Not going to like. Not going to like…

"You said, 'I wasn't raped.'"

Really not going to like…

"Something happened." He waited for her to deny it, but she couldn't. Some things were more important than keeping her secret. Their friendship was one of them. No matter how terribly she wanted to protect him, keep him in the dark about her assault, spare him the torment and guilt she knew would follow, there was no way she was going to continue doing so if it meant sacrificing what they'd lost years ago and just recently managed to find. Her gut twisted with nerves, dreading the encounter and at the same time knowing she could not prevent it this time. One way or another, Elliot was going to find out, and, if that was the case, she'd rather he heard it from her. Once again, she heard hesitation in his silence before his simple question pierced her barriers. "What happened in the basement?"

She sighed deeply. "El, I swear he didn't—"

"No, I know," he promised. "But he did something. What?"

"He…" she struggled for the right words to use until he took pity on her. It was not that she didn't know what she was going to say, just that she wanted to preserve as much of his peace of mind as possible. Somehow, he knew that.

"Liv, just say it how it is. Sometimes there's no right way to say something." He put a hand on her shoulder.

From that hand seemed to flow an unlimited reservoir of strength, enough to help her tell him. "He…It was so close, El. If Fin hadn't gotten there when he did…" She inhaled sharply, painfully. "Well, the outcome would have been worse." Her steely strong gaze cut him deeply.

With her eyes on his, trying desperately to make him understand something, he had a revelation. Dawning horror and realization fueled his attempt. When had they last eye-spoke? Hopefully, these past few days had been enough to make her get it. Stares locked. Blue into brown.

She knew what he wanted to do. She wanted it too, possibly more than anything right now. She prayed that she would still be able to understand. Her eyes searched for his and with a bomb squad-worthy explosion, they connected. Brown into blue.

And she knew exactly what he was saying.

_Was that how you know about the mole Ashley remembered?_

_Yes._

_He got that close?_

_Yes._

_That bastard… How close?_

She held up two fingers maybe a centimeter or two apart, fighting tears now.

_Can I kill him?_

At his failed attempt at humor, her lips quirked slightly as she appreciated the effort and his need to try. _No._

He saw. The unshed tears were like opera singers at a children's carnival or diamonds in an old shed. Just that obvious to him. The hand on her shoulder slid around her, pulling her into a hug. Instead of pulling away as he expected, she melted against his chest and cried. Not caring about their no-touch rule of a decade, he held her closer so that her head was tucked in the crook of his neck, her chest was against his, and her legs were curled up and pressed against the structure at his back. To his surprise, she never fidgeted to get out and sit up. In fact, Olivia was very content to be held at the moment. She'd probably be unhappy later, but that was later.

He suddenly realized this was the second time he'd seen her cry, the first time being a few days ago. Though he didn't like to see it, he was strangely satisfied that she trusted him enough to cry in front of him, let him see her tears, and let him help her through it.

One thing was still bothering him, however. So, being Elliot, he thoughtlessly sprung it on her now. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Olivia rolled her eyes, still wet with tears. She did not, however, remove her head from his shoulder when she replied, "That would have made it real."

He was unused to the sensation of her speaking against his neck, vocal chords vibrating on his collarbone, but he had to admit it felt right. It felt natural and close and exactly right. That was how they were, he realized. Closer than blood, more natural than breathing, and exactly right.

"Did you consider the possibility that making it real is the first step to getting over it?"

"If it isn't real," she countered softly, "what is there to get over?"

He frowned. "Why didn't you ever take a minute and let yourself comprehend exactly what had happened?"

This time she looked up at him. "Because it didn't happen. I didn't want to accept what that meant. El," she shifted to meet his eyes, "do you really want to know why?" At his nod, she leaned back, rocking back and forth before settling in a fetal position.

"I'd accepted that Fin wasn't coming," she said. "I'd tried running, screaming, fighting back, and I'd failed each time. He was too strong. El, I gave up." She drew a deep, shuddering breath, painting a picture in his mind. A horrible picture. Olivia frightened, Olivia crying, Olivia helpless. Olivia looking around for a way out and seeing only a door, a door directly behind Harris. Olivia running away from the danger, farther into a labyrinth of boxes and rubbish, knowing she had to go the other way but unwilling to go through Harris. Olivia hiding, fearing her very heartbeat would give away her position, wondering where Fin was, whether he was coming at all, thinking maybe she should just get it over with.

"I was scared and tired. I was hiding behind a stack of storage boxes, trying to mentally summon Fin, and his flashlight was in my face."

Olivia standing, hands in the air, buying time by letting him think he'd won, looking for a way out.

"He hit me with his nightstick, once in the stomach, once on the back."

Olivia fleeing the source of the pain, moving farther away from the exit. Olivia backed against a wall, wondering how badly it would hurt.

"There was nowhere else to go. He'd cuffed me to the door. I thought maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be as bad if I stopped fighting it."

Olivia sobbing, accepting the inevitable. Elliot's heart ached.

"And then Fin was there, pulling Harris away from me. I still looked like I was fighting, so I didn't have to tell him I didn't need to be rescued anymore." She tightened her arms around her knees, no longer crying. Her deadened tone was probably worse.

Elliot nodded, understanding. "And you didn't mention this because you just wanted to move on?"

Her silence was affirmative enough for him, but then she spoke again. "El, did anyone ever tell you, 'Life's not about waiting for the storm to pass, it's about learning to dance in the rain'?"

He pulled her close, but she resisted, so he replied, "Liv, haven't you heard that, if you spend too much time in the rain, you'll catch cold?" She didn't fight his embrace this time, and they sat like that and watched the sun set.

**____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________**

**Okay, everybody say it with me. "AWWWWW!!!!" YAY! I feel a sense of satisfaction now that this is up. Alrighty now, back to Supremacy and Watching Her. I think Persona is next. Exciting!**

**Like it? Love it? It's the last chapter! Leave a review!**


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